Listen You Are My Sun
by maraudings
Summary: Lydia doesn't know, and Stiles is pretty sure he's never going to tell her. Because if there is anything worse than seeing her hurt it could just as well be not seeing her at all.


**title:** listen you are my sun  
 **author:** maraudings  
 **rating:** T  
 **word count:** 987  
 **disclaimer:** teen wolf and its characters belong to mtv, not myself. for fun, not profit.  
 **a/n:** i've been working on this for like over a month and while i'm still not satisfied with it quite frankly i'm sick of looking at it. still, it's something.

set during and after the first few minutes of 5x04.

* * *

\- _listen you are my sun_ -

* * *

The first thing he sees is blood.

It was all over the tiled floors of the station. And there was too much of it. Scott rushes ahead to help the sheriff off the floor, and instantly Stiles is calmer with the knowledge that his dad is predominately safe. The relief is short lasting, because there is still _so much_ blood. He follows it into the office, and everything slows.

He couldn't move. For perhaps the second time in his life, Stiles Stilinski was utterly floored.

It was like his worst fear come to life. Lydia Martin, on the floor, bleeding profusely from a gaping wound at her side.

It was like it was two years ago all over again. She was bleeding out, and he didn't know how to help.

Because he couldn't. There was no way he could move a muscle with the amount of sheer terror that paralyzed every nerve and tendon in his entire body. He couldn't even think. It looked bad. It looked terrible. The large gash at her side was causing the stain on her pink sweater to slowly but steadily grow larger. He doesn't even register Theo pushing past him, whipping his belt off with limbs and brain waves unaltered by hindering emotions. Because he didn't feel what Stiles felt.

Fear, of course. Absolute terror.

And regret.

She's bleeding out. She's bleeding out, and she doesn't know. She doesn't really, truly know. That when he was here the first time, watching her bleed, and when he had been braver, stronger, unbroken by this life he pitched himself between her and a werewolf because he cared more about her than any part of his own life. And she doesn't truly know this.

It's stupid, because she could actually die right now, in this very moment, and in the corner of his mind rises feelings he had thought were for sure dormant. She could be dead in an hour, and all that's getting through his mind right at this second is that he is so stupid for ever thinking he felt anything less than he really does for her. And even more stupid for never telling her.

(Is he even breathing? He can't really tell.)

Lydia's mother comes up from behind him next, and he watches in slow motion as she pushes into the room and runs to her daughter's side. She is frantic but is enviable in the way she remains composed, running a hand through her strawberry blonde hair in attempts to comfort her.

(Why couldn't he comfort her? Why couldn't he do anything but stand in this doorway?)

A too familiar feeling begins to rise in his chest. A sharp sensation that slowly, and ever so, begins to burn and spread to his lungs and choke them in fear. Panic was building at the base of his throat. He knew what was coming. His panic attacks always started the same.

 _Just focus, Stiles._ Breathe. In and out, in and out...

It is really starting to hit him that she could die when from the fog he hears Scott calling his name. He manages to tear away from what he really, really hopes isn't actually happening to address his friend. _Tracey. Malia._ It seemed like another lifetime to him.

"It's okay, she's alright."

(She isn't, though.)

"Tracey," She manages to say. "Stiles, I'm fine. Help Tracey."

(He doesn't want to leave her.)

"Stiles."

( _Stop it, Scott._ )

"Go!"

He pushes away from the frame of the door only because she told him to. He believes that she's fine because she said so, and his body is buzzing as he reaches the station's basement. He can't even see her anymore, but he can still see the blood.

He should have done something. He should have done something to stop it. Why is he never able to truly help anyone? Malia speaks fast, trying to convince him that it wasn't her that killed Tracey, she never touched her, she couldn't do anything, and the only thing Stiles can think is why isn't it him? He has never, in his life, wanted to have been the one bitten in the woods years ago more than now. He could have prevented it.

This was not particularly an uncommon feeling for him. It comes when he's overwhelmed by everything he has faced, is facing, or will end up facing as a teenager is extraordinary circumstances. It creeps up on him in the dark, when he is alone, just trying to close his eyes and see something other than kanimas and darachs on the backs of his eyelids. It slithers into the cracks of the silences that always, without fail seem to settle between him and his friends. He was too weak, too frail. Too human to help anyone.

He can still see the blood.

 _Lydia._ He couldn't save Lydia.

-x-

Instead of teeth and fangs and poison when he searches for sleep his mind tricks himself into believing he is drowning in blood. It is warm and wet as it trickles down his throat and fills his lungs and he's choking.

There was _so much_ of it at the station. Too much.

She still doesn't know. She's lying in a hospital bed, a place she has been far too often, and she doesn't know. She could have been dead tonight, and all that's going through his mind is that he is so stupid for ever thinking he felt anything less than he really does for her.

He's glad Malia has started to spend more time at her own house. He isn't sure he could manage to hide the erratic nature of his heart beat from her.

Lydia doesn't know, and Stiles is pretty sure he's never going to tell her. Because if there is anything worse than seeing her hurt it could just as well be not seeing her at all.

They were friends, and he wouldn't risk that for anything.


End file.
